Father of the Dead: Part 2
Father of the Dead: Part 2 is the second part of the third volume in the ''Demon of the North'''' series: ''Father of the Dead. The story is set two weeks after the ending of the first part. It is a novella written by LordOfTheNeverThere based on Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Father of the Dead: Part 2 is the fourth and final volume of the Demon of the North series. The story is about a voyage to the Kogathi Highlands in Essos by the story's narrator Jaqelos Eranelion, a former sellsword from the Golden Company. Eranelion tells his story to an unknown person somewhere presumably in Essos. This setting provides the frame for Eranelion's story of his obsession with the exiled Lord of Snake Mount Lucius Dragen. Development Development on Father of the Dead: Part 2 ''has recently begun. I have already come up with a basic story and setting but I still have to develop the narrative, which is a difficult thing to do. As for now, I'll only write small bits here and there. SECTIONS FINISHED: * Prologue * Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 Plot While talking to an unknown person, veteran mercenary and assassin Jaqelos Eranelion begins to tell his tale on arguably his most famous and well-known achievement: The murder of Lucius Dragen. Eranelion tells about his voyage to the Kogathi Highlands and how he gradually became more obsessed with the exiled Lord of Snake Mount. His story includes a kidnapping in Qohor, an ambush in the Dothraki Sea, and the arrival at the Highlands with his final confrontation with the Lord of the Hunt. Questions about racism, power, and morality are all prominently asked in his story. Story Prologue He struggled to open his eyes, only seeing the ceiling when he was able. He heard voices in the dark, whispering his name. "Is he really dead? I hope he is." "A monster, a monster, he is." Oh yes, a monster. He has heard that phrase before. Only too well. His name struck fear into hearts of men. When he walks, the ground turns infertile and the flowers turn to ash. Teeth chatter, dogs cower in fear. Everyone wanted him to be dead, ''him most of all. He was the one who presumably killed him. He finally had enough strength to open his eyes. He observed the room around him, memorising every single detail to make sure he did not miss a thing. He then stared at his belly, a large, bloody gash that nearly gutted him. Luckily, his organs were still in place, but the pain was unbearable. "How long have I been here?" He asked to himself. Hours? Days? Weeks? Certainly not days, the wound was still fresh. Hours then, maybe. He laid completely still but he knew that he had enough strength to stand up and walk outside that room. But how in the world would he be able to make it outside? The knights would kill him. As he recalled, he knew that there were at least two knights guarding the door. Ser Lucas and Ser Willas. Yes, the twin knights, as he used to call them. He could hear their voices. He could hear them speaking about him. "I hope he's dead. That fucker has destroyed this house." Rude. He thought to himself. Unspeakably rude. He should straighten those two proud boys out, but he can't. Not in this state. The door cracked and opened. A small, feeble figure came prowling in. The clanging of chains could be heard. "Ah, Maester Vahaelor." He though to himself. Of course it is. Vahaelor was a maester from beyond the Narrow Sea, in the slaver-city of Meereen. He was not born a slave himself, though. He was born in rich, well-educated Valyrian family, prominent and wealthy in the city. That was, until another family, probably a rival, raided his home, killed his family and took him and his older sister captive. Eventually, the sister had died and Vahaelor fled and booked a passage to the city of Oldtown in the Reach, where he joined the Citadel and became a maester. He discarded his surname and became forever known simply as "Vahaelor". The wise maester was very, very old. Already in his mid-nineties. He was bald, and had a long silver beard. He walked like he had a hump in his back. Thankfully, it was just from old age. He had a wooden cane which he kept to him like a lover. Vahaelor is a good man, never capable of committing evil or unspeakable atrocities. Not unlike the wounded man on the table. Vahaelor walked towards the wounded man, who has shut his eyes and pretended to be dead. As Vahaelor bowed over to inspect him, the man headbutted the ancient maester and knocked him out unconscious. He silently said to himself: "I'm very sorry, Maester. I never wanted it to end this way, but every game must have its ending." The man stood up, noticing that in the supposed brief time he was out cold, his wounds have been cleaned and stitched. When he was finally able to stand on his two feet without falling over, he walked over to Vahaelor's desk and noticed a large cleaving knife. He took the knife and made his way to the door. At the moment the door opened, Ser Lucas and Ser Willas tried to unsheathe their swords but before they could even touch them, their throats have already been opened by the man. As Ser Lucas and Ser Willas died, the man made his way to the docks. "Get a boat and leave this place." He kept thinking to himself. The man found a boat and unhooked it from the docks. He started rowing like a madman up the river. Before he was even in the boat, the castle alarm bells started singing. "Prisoner escaping! Search the castle, now!" A voice cried. "Let them come." The man thought to himself. "Let them come and I'll eat all of their livers." Once the man found himself on solid ground, away from the dreadful castle and its atrocious bells, he walked all the way to White Harbor. "What will I do know?" The man though to himself. "I have escaped, but I can't stay in Westeros anymore. They'll be hunting me from Dorne to Castle Black. I already made countless of enemies in a relatively short period of time. Even I am not that strong to fend off so many enemies and mutual nemeses. I'll take a ship and sail for Braavos. Stay there for some time and then flee again. I'll have to discard my name, and presumably my face. No one must know who I really am. No one will ever hear the name Lucius Dragen ever again. I am free." Chapter I: Beginning of a Tale I've been in the mercenary business since I was eighteen years old. Left my home when I was but a lad. For more than twenty years I've been assassinating high political targets for large amounts of gold. This made me a very, very rich man and before I even knew I was giving lavish parties and indulging in the luxury of wealth. I married a beautiful young girl and sired a son, who I haven't seen in years. Yes, I was at the prime of my time. But that joy soon turned to ashes in my mouth. I couldn't do it. I just couldn't do it. I have a strict sense of honour that keeps me from abandoning unfinished contracts but this one was just too heavy. Maybe I've gone old or maybe the joy of killing is taking its toll on me, I dunno. Anyway, I couldn't kill my target; I let my partner do it for me. The disappointment I saw in his eyes, I haven't seen that since I left my family. That look of disappointment was identical to the one Father gave me the night I left. Of course I told my contractor what my partner did that I couldn't do. Not like he gave a fuck, he just wanted the poor sod dead. "What's done is done." My contractor told me. Yes, it was done, but I was never the same again. I retired, and as a result of that, I became millions in debt to the Iron Bank of Braavos. They told me that if I couldn't secure seven million Gold Dragons in three months, they would take all of my gold. And they did. I became bankrupt, and soon my wife left me and re-married a richer, nobler man. She also took my boy with her. I was fine with her leaving me, but taking my son, that made me snap. I hit her across the face and before I could apologise, she left. I was left with that fucking shit house back in Tyrosh. I sold it, what the fuck was I going to do with it? There was nothing for me left here in Essos. The remaining gold that the Iron Bank didn't take from me, I invested in a passage to White Harbor in Westeros. I would drink and whore myself into an early grave. I had nothing to lose anymore. I was in White Harbor for, what, six? seven months? I lost count. Anyway, I was cock-deep in shit. The hole I left my broken self in was so low you needed wings to escape it. I was depressed as shit. I tried multiple times to cut my wrists and to end the suffering, but I never had the strength to do it. I was able to kill boys younger than fifteen in return for gold but ending my own miserable existence, that was apparently too low for me. Alright, seven months in White Harbor, earning my money by working at a northern farm. "Honest gold for honest work." The farmer I worked with, his name was Rohar. Rohar the Brutal, we used to call him. He was a good man, a man with principles. But he was a fucking pain in the arse. He had a sarcastic and dry wit and he was smart as hell. You did one thing wrong and he would scream at you so loud it could be heard from Deepwood Motte to Asshai. I liked that man. Rohar knew what I've been through. He was soldier himself, years ago. Used to fight in the Blackfyre rebellions and in the "war of ninepen kings"? Something with the Blackfyres, I think. Don't give me that look, I'm from fucking Tyrosh, we don't give seven golden shits on the Westerosi and their wars. Anyway, Rohar knew what I've been going through since he was betrayed and left for dead by his comrades at a giant battle at the Stepstones, he says. He's been through shit larger than the one the Titan of Braavos could take. He took good care of me, gave me a roof over my head, gave me food, but most importantly: He gave me coin. While I was in White Harbor, I met this skinny man called Keat. Keat was a drunken fool, but an honest fool. His wife left him and took their dog with her. He practically made the Lazy Eel his home. They gave him ale, and he would kick the violent drunk ones out of the winesink. Keat once told me that: "If you're hurt, drink until the pain is gone". I could live by that philosophy as long as it indeed took the pain away. Look, I know that that doesn't work for shit, but I needed ale, strong ale, so I drank until the pain goes away, and when the pain returns. For seven months I led a calm and relatively peaceful life. I worked for Rohar the Brutal, he'd give me coin, and I spent that coin into ale and whores. Things were about to look up for me. No one cared what I did before I left Tyrosh, they didn't care about all the people I killed before, my kills weren't much different to theirs. But we were like family. We were brothers, soldiers without an army. Betrayed, forgotten, abandoned. And then the infamous invitation came. Something that would change my life and my mind for good. A simple job, I thought to myself. What was I wrong. By Bakkalon what was I wrong. Everyone has their sins, their demons that keep them awake at night. Something hidden in their memory that would wake them up screaming in the middle of the night. All I ever wanted was one last contract, and for all my sins they gave me one. If everyone makes a confession to wipe their sins away, then this story could very well be mine. Pull up a chair, lads; this is going to be a long one. Chapter II: The Invitation As I said, my story begins with an invitation. As I, your humble narrator, sat at the Lazy Eel, drowning myself in a piss bowl of ale, I noticed two finely dressed, shiny warriors walking in the winesink. Northerners, by the sound of their accents. Nobody paid any attention to them, they see enough Northern soldiers here, these men were no different. Except that they didn't bore the white merman of the Manderlys, who rule White Harbor. Instead, the men wore a black viper on their green cloaks. I've never seen a sigil any other than the Manderlys, so this was going to be interesting. The men scoured the bar and talked to a few patrons. I couldn't hear what they were saying, the noise in the winesink was too loud. Finally, one patron pointed his finger at me and the two warriors walked over to me. I grabbed the hilt of my blade, readying for a battle. However, the two sat beside me, ordered two mugs of ale, and spoke to me. "You there, you're the one they call 'Jaqelos of Tyrosh?'" The bigger man asked. "Who's asking?" I responded. I wanted to know who these men are working for and what the fuck they wanted from me. The smaller man then said something I found a bit cryptic, and scary: "We know why you're here. We know why you hardly sleep. Your last mission went sour, didn't it?" As soon as he asked me that, shivers ran down my spine. What the fuck do they know about me? And who are these people? I played along with their game and I eventually said that my last mission went the wrong way indeed, to which the bigger man responded with: "Well, then. If you still seek to redeem yourself and carry out one last mission, you should pay a visit to Snake Mount." He then proceeded to hand me a sealed scroll sealed with the same snake symbol the men were wearing. They eventually left, and while I was utterly confused I unsealed the scroll and read the content. This is what it said: : "To whom it may concern, You do not know my name, and I prefer to keep it that way in case this letter fails to reach you somehow. I have been told that you possess a certain set of skills that could benefit men like me. As I recall, you are specifically well-endowed in the art of murder, secret assassinations, and so forth. This is why I reach out to you. I too, am in need of assistance to get rid of a certain individual whose name I also purposefully refuse to mention. I can tell you more about it if you visit the location my two "errand boys" have told you about. Come here as soon as possible, if you accept the contract. Yours faithfully, The Prince of the Moths" The "Prince of the Moths". I did not know who wrote the letter or why ''they wanted to specifically hire me for the job. Only thing I know, is that somehow Bakkalon may have answered my prayers. Ever since my arrival at White Harbor I prayed to the Pale Child to give me an opportunity to redeem myself for my sins. Well, there it was, a letter sealed with the Sign of the Viper. How little did I know, that this simple letter could very well dictate my future, past, and present. I clung to the letter as if it were a bag of gold. I tried to make sense of the cryptic messages inside of it. The "Prince of the Moths?" What kind of name is that? Who would call himself like this? And, most scary of all, how do they know my name, and what I did? Sure, I was a legend back in Tyrosh, but this "prince" was not from Tyrosh, as far as I know. He knew my name, and he gives me an opportunity to carry out one last contract to redeem myself. At least, that's how I viewed it. Seven Fucking Hells. I was exhilarated, afraid, anxious, and nervous. These last three nights would be the longest nights of my life. White Harbor. Shit, I thought to myself, I'm still only in White Harbor. Every time I close my eyes I'm back in Lorath, back to my last contract. Sweat pours over my face, I am covered in blood. I hear screams. Screams in the night. Screams that wake me from my nightmares. I killed them. Fucking hell, I killed them. How the fuck was I supposed to know they were innocent? I had a contract, I needed to kill them. I should've never let my personal feelings get in the way. But this time, they did. And it fucked me up good. After the deed was done, I ran. Together with my partner, we ran through the streets of Lorath. Blind priests chased after us. It was dark, we couldn't see. I carried one of the victims in my arms; a little boy. Not older than eight. They gouged his eyes out, and he was screaming. "Leave him! He's slowing us down!" My partner cried out. "He's just a boy! We can't leave him!" But as we ran faster, and as we became gradually more exhausted, I dropped him. Just like that. I remembered his cries. I couldn't speak his language, but it was clear he cried for our help. And I left him. Whatever happened to him that day, I suppose he's dead by now. Ever since that day, whenever I tried to sleep, I could hear his muffled screams again, and I would wake up. "Bakkalon, release me from this torment!" I would scream when I woke up during the night. Every day, every night, the walls moved in a little tighter. I had a feeling I was going insane. I had another demon from my past yet again, three weeks after the assassination. All I could remember was my wife screaming at me while she was packing her stuff. My son was crouched in the corner, crying, telling us to stop fighting. I didn't say a word, I stared emotionless at the ground revisiting the assassination over, and over, and over. Eventually, my wife managed to shut her mouth and she grabbed my son and slammed the bedroom door behind her. I just kept staring at the ground. I have nothing now. My wife is gone. My son is gone. Ever since I decided to quit the sellsword life I was plunged into a massive debt with the Iron Bank of Braavos. I couldn't pay them anymore since I lost my only work. They told me that if I couldn't pay them back I would lose my house. And sure enough, I was homeless. The Braavosi always love to say: "The Iron Bank will have its due." No shit, they weren't joking about that one. Day three, I wake up, screaming again. It's late at night, nearing dawn. No way I would fall asleep now. After I sat in my room for hours, I finally made my decision. I'm taking the contract. Today, I'll go and speak with this "Prince" and I'll see what he has in store for me. This was my chance, my opportunity, there is no way I will let this one slip. But I did know that this time, there was no going back. Chapter III: The Castle of Vipers The next day, I took a carriage to Snake Mount. I paid the driver a hefty sum to keep his mouth shut, and he did not usher a word. It was bloody cold here in the North, but nothing compared to the dump I would end up in. It was already mid winter, the land was ravaged in war and turmoil. These Northerners are tough sons of bitches and you can see it when you gaze upon the land in which they live. We rode through snowy hills, snowy forests, fucking snow everywhere. This was nothing like Tyrosh, with its warm sun and cool seas. When you wanted to take a piss here you had to be careful your dick wouldn't get frozen off. Then again, the cold toughened you, made you aware about your surroundings and it kept you concentrated. The rode took...what? Three? Four days? I don't know. I arrived at my location and I swear to you, the snow piled up so high you needed wings to stay above it. And the cold, dear gods, the cold. We arrived at a massive steel gate. Alongside the gate were a long set of walls. Along the castle's walls were banners with the same snake symbol that the two errand boys back in White Harbor wore. A green winged serpent, on black. Terrifying. Truly. The walls surrounding the castle were thick, nearly the length of a fat little boy. The walls were white and ungodly high. This castle could withstand a siege for years. The soldiers guarding these walls, however, were a group of old, impoverished, and weak men. They had a look of desperation in their eyes. Most of these have seen too few wars, or maybe too many. I stepped out of the carriage, paid the driver, and gazed upon the massive gate. "Who goes there?!" A voice cried out. "Jaqelos Eranelion! I need to speak to your leader!" I cried back. A moment of silence. I thought they had ignored me, or something. But then, the gates started to open. A loud crack of rusty steel echoed throughout the lands. When the gates opened, I walked in. The castle consisted of a small town, and when you walked up the streets you arrived at the castle itself. It looked almost similar to the slums of Tyrosh. I almost felt back home. The streets were filled with old and sick people. Emaciated men and women, starving children. They saw I was carrying the clothes of a noble and soon enough, they all started begging to me. I had no time to explain to them that I just wasted all my gold on whores and wine. So instead I kept moving. After a little walk, I ended up at yet ''another ''set of high walls. These people were either incredibly paranoid, incredibly protective, or just both. This time, I didn't need to say anything. The doors opened by themselves and when I passed through I ended up in a courtyard. You saw all sorts of people training for combat and hacking and hammering with their swords like a proper Westerosi. These fools don't know how to fight. Too aggressive, I thought to myself. But I digress. I was greeted by a finely dressed little man. Very small, very sleek. "Ah, you're finally here. Lord Ethan has expected you." Well, now I know the supposed ''true ''name of the "Prince of the Moths." Lord Ethan. "Great, where can I meet him?" I asked. "Follow me, and I'll take you to the great hall. The others have been waiting as well." He replied. Others? What others? You're not going to tell me that I've stumble on some underground syndicate of sorts here? These weren't just simple fat old men who paid others just to do their dirty jobs; I was accustomed to that sort of thing. These were...different...types of men. Types of men you just don't want to double-cross. I was still utterly confused. I wanted to get to the bottom of this all. I want to know ''who ''and ''why ''they wanted to specifically hire me. I'm retired. Why hire a retired sellsword? What's the use? They really wanted someone with the same set of skills as mine. Whatever this is, the pay better be damn worth it. I followed the fancy lad into a massive feasting hall. On the hall's walls hung banners with the same snake symbol. At the far end of the room were two large windows with a large chair and a long table in front of them. Down the stairs of the table was a longer table, probably for feasts. There were several people present here. One was an old man, probably a hundred years old by the look of him. He was mostly bald, with a long white beard, pasty skin and wrinkles and spots all over his face. His eyes were deep purple that stared back at me with a look of tiredness in them. He was constantly bent over because of a hunchback, and it looked like he was bowing to me. He wore dark robes with a set of silver chains around his neck. There was also a tall, muscled man who was probably sixty years old. He had gold-brown hair with sideburns that looked like a lion's mane. He wore steel plate armor with a longsword and a pocket dagger strapped to his back. Then there was also another "man". But I don't think he was a man anymore; I nearly shat myself when I first laid my eyes on him. He looked fairly young to me, maybe in his thirties. He had pitch black hair, a dark grey beard and eerie light grey eyes. He had a bloodied piece of cloth around his right eye and a set of scars all over his face. You could also very nearly spot another set of scars with became barely visible above his fur clothing. He wore black clothes with a snake pendant holding together a grey bear's fur coat. "My lords, Jaqelos Eranelion has arrived." the fancy man said. "Thank you, Brandon." The blonde-haired man replied. I observed the three men closely and they observed me back. After a brief moment of silence the old humpback approached me and shook my hand. "Jaqelos, it's a pleasure meet you. We've heard many stories about you. Fascinating stories. I am Vahaelor, a maester from the Citadel currently serving the noble House of Dragen." He then pointed at the golden-haired man: "This here is Ser Duncan of House Catell. Castellan of Snake Mount." Then he looked at the scarred man: "And this is Lord Ethan of House Dragen. Lord of Snake Mount and Lord Defender of the North." Fancy titles, I thought to myself. I was right, these ''were ''some noble and powerful men, by the looks of them. After the old maester was finished introducing themselves, the golden-haired man stepped to me. "We've heard things about you, yes. We want to make sure that the stories told about you are indeed true. Well? Are they?" Duncan asked. "Well...I don't really know what you're asking." I replied in confusion. "Haven't you assassinated a Triarch of Volantis six years ago? Under the guise that you were hired by an impoverished Volantene nobleman?" Well, it seems they know about that little incident. That was one of my most difficult contracts, of course they must know about those. How should I respond? That Triarch was a man of high importance, I can't just admit I indeed killed him "That was an highly exaggerated tale..." I muttered. "And didn't you, eleven years ago, poisoned the Prince of Pentos by using the Long Farewell in his wine?" Oh shit, I thought. That was years ago, I thought those goat-fuckers in Pentos forgot about that. "My lord, I was hired by...trusted and...anonymous individuals and...um...I am obliged to keep my contacts and targets...secret until told otherwise..." I lied. Again a moment of silence. But this time, Lord Ethan, who had been silent the entire time, rose from his chair and walked over to me. He was taller than I was and very intimidating. He observed me very closely as the sweat dripped from my face after telling such a "convincing" lie. I thought he would open my throat or detect that I was lying. After a long staring contest, he spoke to me. "I was hoping you could join us at dinner, so we can discuss business." Phew, I sighed with relief. My lie might've worked. I followed the others as we sat at the dinner table. Ethan grabbed a bell and rung it. Suddenly, several servants walked in and put plates with all sorts of food on our table. Ethan grabbed a piece of pie and showed it to me. "I don't know what you think about this kidney pie but...if you can manage to eat it you never have to demonstrate your bravery to me ever again." Ethan put a piece of delicious-looking kidney pie on my plate while I was still in my confusion state. Duncan poured my glass with some wine while he was staring at me the entire time. I wasn't hungry and I was not in the mood to eat, I just wanted to know why in seven hells they wanted to hire me. "Now. I'm going to be straight with you, Eranelion. I don't give a rats arse what you did or what you didn't do. All I want, is a man who can kill, and can be damn good at it." He said. "I can kill. Been doing it my entire life." I replied back. A moment of silence. Ethan and the others exchanged glances and then Ethan looked me dead in the eye and said: "I need someone dead, Jaqelos. An old enemy, and a former friend. I don't want him captured, I don't want him hurt, I don't want him threatend. I want him ''dead." Good, I thought. Killing is my business. And business is good. "Who's the target?" I asked. Ethan stood from his seat and stared outside the window. After a long sigh, he told me the story. "Before I became the Lord of this House, my nephew ruled. My nephew and I we...We didn't really get along as children. But he was a good child. A humanitarian boy. He loved us, and we loved him. He had a kind heart and...a sense of humor. But then came a war. The "War of the Usurper", we called it. My brother left Snake Mount to fight somewhere down south. My nephew wasn't even thirteen. He disappeared in the wilderness here in the North for weeks. Several scouting parties employed by Ser Duncan here were arranged. But no one could find him. My brother didn't know, we didn't sent any ravens to tell him. And then the boy returned. On a carriage, wearing Stark clothing. Apparently my nephew was found near Winterfell and Lady Stark arranged to have him returned safely to Snake Mount. But he was changed. Over the years, as my little nephew grew older, he also grew more wicked. By the time he became an adult, the old, innocent boy was seemingly destroyed. Upon the death of my brother, my nephew ascended as Lord. He was ruthless, cruel, vile and evil. He even ate ''his own subjects. Can you imagine? He ''ate ''people! But, as it's custom with every tyrant: he fell. I duelled him and just when I thought I had ended his life, he disappeared from Snake Mount. Apparently he survived. While I succeeded him as Lord and tried to rebuild and undo all the damage he's done to this once mighty House, I've sent numerous assassins and spies to find him. And found him I did: in Essos. Hiding and fleeing across the continent." "And that's where I come in, I assume?" I asked. "Yes. My nephew's name is Lucius Dragen. Ever heard of him?" 'Lucius', I thought. Aye, him I've heard of. Never knew he had a surname; back in White Harbor he was known as the 'Demon of the North'. "Yes, I've heard 'stories' about him while I was in White Harbor." I admitted. "They aren't just stories." Ethan replied. "They are all true. Different versions, maybe, but all of them true. Him I need dead." "I'll be more than happy to kill bad people." I said. "Bad?" Ethan ironically asked. "He isn't bad. Lucius Dragen is an evil, fucking man." He said. 'Evil?' I thought. There is no such thing as evil. Every man and woman is evil and good in their own way. What makes a man evil if he does what he thinks is right? A man can do anything in his power to protect those he loves but in the process, others may find him evil because they find a man's ways 'unnatural'. Is that evil? Or just necessity? I thought to myself. "Evil or not, I can kill anyone." I said. "Good." Ethan replied. "Because this contract is ''nothing compared to what you are used to. This isn't just a simple 'poison a man's wine and watch him die' kind of target. Lucius is a dangerous man. Not because he has 'influence' or because he 'rules some piss-corner of the world'. His danger comes from the fact of what he can do. I've seen him fight, I've seen him attack a man like he's an animal in human skin. Do not underestimate him." "What will I be doing?" I asked. "You are to sail on the Rhoyne river in a boat owned by the Golden Company. Pick up Lucius' path at the Qhoyne, follow it and learn what you can along the way. When you find Lucius, infiltrate his team, gain his trust by whatever means available and execute him." Ethan declared. "Execute?" "He has done terrible crimes to this house, and to the realm. The crown wants his head, the North wants his head. He needs to be brought to justice..." Duncan replied. "Terminate with extreme prejudice." Vahaelor interrupted. "You must understand, Jaqelos, that this quest will not exist, nor will it ever exist..." Ethan replied back. 'Terminate with extreme prejudice'. That's a fancy sentence for saying 'kill the man bloody'. I don't even think that they wanted this quest to exist. Lucius fucking Dragen. That man was a legend in White Harbor. I've been intrigued by his stories and his maniacal deeds. And now I ''get to kill him. Did Bakkalon do this on purpose? Did he purposefully hand me a contract that no other mercenary would dare to take, just because I asked for it? I had a feeling that this could go either really bad for me, or just mildly bad for me. Whatever the case, I felt like after this contract, I never wanted another ever again... Chapter IV: Cold Winds '''WIP' Chapter V: The Narrow Sea WIP Chapter VI: Volantis WIP Chapter VII: Valorous WIP Chapter VIII: The Rhoyne River WIP Chapter IX: The City of Sorcerers WIP Chapter X: Abducted WIP Chapter XI: The Black Goat WIP Chapter XII: The Run WIP Chapter XIII: The Qhoyne River WIP Chapter XIV: His Name WIP Chapter XV: The Dothraki Sea WIP Chapter XVI: Keep Walking WIP Chapter XVII: The Ambush WIP Chapter XVIII: Proper Burial WIP Chapter XIX: Welcome to the Jungle WIP Chapter XX: The Endless River WIP Chapter XXI: The Heart of Darkness WIP Chapter XXII: Lucius WIP Chapter XXIII: Imprisoned WIP Chapter XXIV: The Horror WIP Chapter XXV: The End of the Hunt WIP Chapter XXVI: GOD WIP Epilogue WIP Image Gallery Fotdp2 ambush.jpg|The crew of the Valorous are ambushed by the Dothraki FOTDP2 cover 2.jpg Fotdp2 my world.png Kogathi jungle.jpg|The Kogathi Jungle Kogathi river.jpg|The river in the Kogathi Highlands Godfotdp2.png|Lucius on his throne of bones Horned man.jpg|A Horned Man of Qohor Lucius old.jpg|Lucius in 304 AL Category:LordOfTheNeverThere Category:Fanfiction Category:Novellas Category:Demon of the North Category:Under construction